


inconsequential

by incantatums



Series: there is an art to murder and love [3]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: AU, Canon Divergence, Character Death, Future Fic, M/M, Nygmobblepot, there's no porn just some sort of descriptions about gory stuff, yep this is a Major Spoiler for the series. oops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 10:28:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13949655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incantatums/pseuds/incantatums
Summary: He's thinking about Edward's russet eyes staring at him from the corner of a room, his pupils that never stray from Oswald's when he's all wrapped around him. He's thinking about Edward's fingers that hold Oswald's hands, twists around his own fingers, stroking the sensitive skin on his wrist.He's also thinking about how Edward won't know what happened to him.





	inconsequential

**Author's Note:**

> Ummmm so.... I'm sorry. This kind of hit me whilst I was planning out the end of this series, with a chaptered story and everything, and it was supposed to end with them at least staying together, not necessarily a 'happily ever after', but this works too.
> 
> Jesus I'm really sorry. This got me all kinds of sad.

He can't breathe. There's too much blood in his mouth, his own blood, drowning him as he lays on the cold, damp concrete floor. Alone. Oswald is laying on a damp floor of a building that no one visits due to its derelict aesthetic and crumbling roof, and Oswald is going to die here. Alone.

Despite the knowledge that he really is going to die this time (no rising from the ashes weeks or months later, humiliating the person that dared try to burn the ground underneath him, and take back what is rightfully his), Oswald isn't as scared as he thought he would be. His breathing is erratic which makes him choke more which makes him breathe more erratically, an endless cycle which makes it all the more obvious how close to death he is, but Oswald is still quiet in his head.

He's thinking about Edward – Edward's russet eyes staring at him from the corner of a room, his pupils that never stray from Oswald's when he's all wrapped around him. He's thinking about Edward's fingers that hold Oswald's hands, twists around his own fingers, stroking the sensitive skin on his wrist.

He's also thinking about how Edward won't know what happened to him.

They're supposed to meet in an hour but Oswald had a few matters to deal with. A family that were seen as unimportant, weak, had come into town many years ago and stirred up the heads of different families and thriving criminals, but no one thought much of them at the time.

Gotham is certainly thinking of them now.

Oswald is too.

The hole in his gut that extends up into his chest has made sure of that – embedded their family name into his brain and he can't believe how fucking stupid he was to meet with the younger generation by himself, telling no one but a useless lackey that probably won't even remember Oswald mentioning it to him. Such a stupid decision and perhaps he deserved to die if these are the kind of decisions he makes and deems as done and dusted. Perhaps karma exists in the way that if you make a continuous line of stupid decisions that haven't been thought out or planned very well, then you get what's coming for you.

It's almost funny, Oswald thinks. Ironic, that this small decision is what leads to his death. He's done so many reckless things that this seems inconsequential in comparison.

Oswald's breathing is getting weak. He can barely cough away that thick pool of blood that's settling in his throat, coating his airways, making black dots appear in his peripheral before they quickly fade away again. Not as quickly as before, though; they're staying longer and longer, more black spots each time, larger and taking away more of his vision each time.

Oswald doesn't know where it comes from, but it hits him harder than the hook to his gut that ripped up into his chest and spilled half his bloodied innards on the floor.

He still loves Edward. And he doesn't even know.

Edward doesn't know how much Oswald loves him, adores him, that is he is the sun is Oswald's dark life where the good is always overtaken by the bad.

That's more terrifying than any thought or threat of imminent death.

Now this is actually funny. Oswald has spent so many years wondering if they could have loved each other once that he didn't even notice himself falling for Edward all over again, but this time it actually hurts to know that Edward doesn't know, rather than feeling sheepish and irritated that he doesn't know. This isn't anything like when Isabella came into Edward's life; this is something that Oswald could describe as _real_.

Oh.

Oswald is laying on the cold, damp concrete, and there isn't a single noise. No birds, no city noise, no wind. No breathing.

There's still thirty minutes until Oswald and Edward were supposed to meet.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought! Constructive criticism helps me become a better writer! (And some mind blowing compliments won't hurt much either?)


End file.
